


Troubled Enough For Us Both

by Leamas



Category: A Perfect Spy - John le Carré
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, guilt like only magnus pym is capable of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 11:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leamas/pseuds/Leamas
Summary: There isn't anything Magnus wouldn't do for Poppy, although their ideas of what Poppy wants differ greatly.





	Troubled Enough For Us Both

Axel remained on the bed. After studying Magnus’ face for a moment he sat up to light a cigarette, then rested his back against the headboard of the bed. A window was open above him and it let in a chill. Poppy didn’t seem to care. With his legs stretched out in front of him and his cigarette, his bottle of vodka within reaching distance and his own gun on the nightstand beside him, Poppy did not seem to care about anything.

For the first time, Magnus felt a flickering of uncertainty. He watched how long Poppy held the cigarette in his mouth and tried to remember if it was the usual length.

Finally, Poppy asked, “Will you do it?”

“I will if you tell me to,” Magnus said.

His right hand, which had his gun in it, was perfectly still.

“Do it,” Poppy said. He sounded curt, but not cruel. “I dare you.”

Magnus was aware of every inch of his body. It felt sharp, like being slapped. He felt at ease with himself as he said, “I would deserve it, wouldn’t I?”

“I suppose you would. Actually, yes – I _do_ think you deserve it.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve thought about it before,” Poppy said. In his eyes Magnus saw something dark, although the rest of his body did not betray it. He sat as languid as ever, stretched across the small bed in the small room in which they agreed to meet several weeks ago, content that nothing was happening that he did not permit.

He was right, Magnus knew.

“What have you thought about?”

“What it would be like to be in your position.”

“With a gun held to your head?” Magnus asked.

“Holding a gun to _your_ head, Sir Magnus,” Poppy said. “I do not have to imagine what it would be like to have someone hold a gun to me.”

“And if you were to hold one to yourself?”

“Why would I?” Poppy demanded. “Why _should_ I?”

Outside was cold. The clouds were overcast. There was no snow on the ground, and Magnus knew that although it felt very cold, there would be none because it was not actually cold at all; if anything happened, there would be rain.

The barrel of the gun sat close to Magnus’ temple. He felt his hand waver, but it was only a brief spasm – the consequence of holding his arm at such an unnatural angle, with his shoulder half-raised and his elbow crooked so his arm could twist around to face him. His hand holding the heavy weight of his own gun steady. He was not shaking.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“When?”

“When someone held a gun to you?”

“I said, ‘You can’t shoot me. Do you not know that our best agent is _my_ agent? What would you do without me? How would you speak to him?’”

“What did they say?” Magnus asked.

“They said they wouldn’t speak to you, then,” Poppy said. “It didn’t matter, and they would kill me anyway. But they put their gun away and beat me some more, before letting me go. I had to meet you, you see.”

“I see.”

“ _What_ do you see, exactly, Sir Magnus?” Poppy demanded of him. “I see a man holding a gun to his own head. I have had one held to my head enough times to know it does not lend itself to clear vision.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“Do it,” Poppy said. He made a flippant gesture with his hand that was not holding the cigarette. “See if I care. I won’t miss you, Sir Magnus.”

“Good.”

“Or maybe I will miss you terribly.”

“You think I deserve this.”

“I suppose you do,” Poppy said. “But shouldn’t it be me who kills you?”

Magnus paused. As he watched Poppy sat up straighter. He briefly touched the headboard with the hand not holding the cigarette to support himself, stretching himself out before relaxing again. Poppy settled back into his body and looked to Magnus with his horrifically dark eyes.

“Do you want to?”

“I think I deserve to.”

“Okay,” Magnus said.

“Give me the gun.”

“You have one of your own.”

“This is a Czech gun. Can you imagine what would happen if it comes out that a Czech intelligence officer killed a British diplomat?”

“It would be bad,” Magnus said, slowly. Poppy did not let him finish before interrupting.

“It would be terrible! And my people would want to know why I killed my own agent. They would take me away and beat me, and then hold a gun to _my_ head, and this time I would not be able to say that they need me to speak to you, because you would be dead.”

To his horror, Magnus felt his hand shake. He handed the gun to Poppy.

Poppy thanked him, then pointed the gun at Magnus. “Get on your knees.”

His knees were cushioned by the rug tastefully laid out. All he could look at was the gun in Poppy’s hand. What a shame he would have to leave it here with Magnus; he would have asked Poppy to take it otherwise, because his hand covered it like a glove. He imagined Poppy using it to defend himself the next time anyone came for him.

“Do you want to be shot through the front of your head or through the back?”

“Through the front.”

“Do you want to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” Poppy said. He rolled the gun over in his hand, checked the safety, and then levelled it with the front of Magnus’ head. “Perhaps I will give you that. I suppose you looked me in the eye when you told me it was you who betrayed you. So that is fair, yes?”

“Yes.”

“But you could not look at me when they came to take me away, and so maybe I should shoot you in the back. What do you think?”

“I think that would be fair.”

“But that would require I stand and walk around behind you,” Poppy said. “And I am quite comfortable like this.”

Poppy’s hadn’t finished with his cigarette; would he finish it before he shot Magnus, or would he hold it in his mouth? Perhaps he would only need one hand to do it. Poppy was no longer looking at the gun but was watching Magnus instead.

“I could turn around,” Magnus suggested.

“That would work,” Poppy agreed.

Magnus did.

“Wait!”

Magnus looked over his shoulder.

“I want to see your eyes when I shoot you,” Poppy said. “Just so I know that you really, truly want to do this.”

“What will you do if you decide that I don’t?”

“I will shoot myself, Sir Magnus,” Poppy said. “But I don’t think it would come to that. I think you really would be happy to die, if I asked you to.”

Poppy was right, as usual; he was always right about Magnus because Poppy made Magnus. He knew Magnus before Magnus met himself. He hadn’t said anything at the time of the initial confession, but Magnus knew it was not the first time Poppy considered it.

“Well?” Poppy demanded.

“I will, if that’s what you want me to. And I’ll be happy to do it, too.”

“Well, it isn’t.” Poppy disabled the gun, clicking the safety back on before throwing it to the end of the bed. Magnus stared after it. In his stomach he felt a weak, queasy feeling. He no longer felt every perfect inch of his painfully sharp skin, and instead felt that he might pass out.

“What did you think would happen today, Sir Magnus?” 

“I thought you would let me shoot myself.”

“I could not stop you if I did,” Poppy said. “But I do not see what I would gain by losing one more person.”

“Even if it were me?”

Poppy leaned forward in the bed so his face was very close to Magnus’, close enough that Magnus thought he felt Poppy’s breath.

“You are not,” he said, “the worst man I have ever met.”

Magnus wasn’t going to ask who the worst was, because he could imagine. He did not wish to. Right now he was so very aware of their proximity, mere inches away from each other. He could reach out and touch Poppy, if Poppy allowed him to or willed it. He would do anything for his friend, if only he would asked; luckily for Magnus, he was confident that Poppy would tell him at the first opportunity it became relevant.

Poppy reached down next to the bed and took out a bottle of vodka. He took a sip. Then he passed it to Magnus.

“Poppy?”

“What?”

“How much do you care what I have done to you?”

“Not a lot,” Poppy said. “You’re not important enough. Or perhaps you are so important to me that I don’t care.”

“How?”

Poppy shrugged. “Sir Magnus, I believe that you may have it in you to care enough for both of us. And so I feel no need to trouble myself with the burden of what you did to me. You are troubled enough for us both.”  


End file.
